


Eve's Garden

by smalldeathandbeetles



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Angst, Bliss (Far Cry), Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, Fuck John, Grief/Mourning, Multi, Obsessive Behavior, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:28:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22216318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smalldeathandbeetles/pseuds/smalldeathandbeetles
Summary: After Eden's Gate manages to kill Eve Hanson's husband, she sets out to take Joseph and his fucked-up siblings down.The only problem is they seem to have a weird obsession with her.*On a bit of a hiatus.
Relationships: Faith Seed/Jacob Seed/John Seed/Joseph Seed/Original Female Character(s), Female Deputy | Judge/Faith Seed, Female Deputy | Judge/Jacob Seed, Female Deputy | Judge/John Seed, Female Deputy | Judge/Joseph Seed
Comments: 24
Kudos: 104





	1. In The Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really have no clue what I'm doing

The deputy isn't a fan of flying.

Well, up until this moment she didn't think she would be. A fear of heights had followed her throughout her life, preventing her from many things most people saw as ordinary. She'd never been in a plane, never went up in a building higher than four stories, and abstained from rollercoasters. It was boring according to her husband (then again, what wasn't boring to him?), but she was fine with it. There's nothing necessary up in the skies. Nothing worthwhile.

Now that she's up here, miles above the Montana mountains in a tiny helicopter, she can confirm she doesn't like flying. Everything she thought it would be is true. There is nothing up here. Nothing besides the anxiety of landing that is. It's something she'd never have liked to experience, something she'd love to opt out of, but driving into the compound was never an option. She'd made sure to ask both Marshal Burke and Whitehorse before they'd left.

"You alright Eve?" Burke asks with a bit of a drawl, eyes trained on the paper in his hands. The young deputy can't exactly read what it says from her position, but she doesn't need to. Eve knows exactly what it is.

Marshal holds the warrant meant for Joseph Seed, a self-proclaimed prophet with a list of bad habits a mile long. Most were suspected actions that would usually put any normal criminal in prison for life. Joseph wasn't a normal criminal though. The man convinced most the county he was a god and seems to have the best lawyer on his side. Due to this, despite his many crimes there were only a few things they could absolutely take down in court. Murder? No witnesses, no weapons. Stealing? Well, something so small wouldn't do shit to the Seeds when John would fabricate evidence. Kidnapping with the intent to harm on the other hand was easy to prove when you have the victims already lining up at the gate.

"As good as I can be," Is her response, soft, simple. Almost too quiet to be heard over the chopper's wings.

Burke had been worried about her joining up with the sheriff and getting this job. She'd lived most her life down in Missouri. Worked as a teacher during the year and came up to Hope County in the summer to visit with Will's family.  
Most her evenings were spent grading papers while watching TV with her husband. There was nothing about her that screamed law enforcement. Nothing that said that 5'0 ft school teacher could handle this. Hell, Eve had never held a gun until Whitehorse plopped one in her hands and told her to get used to it. It was a lot for her, it still is, and the marshal knows that Will would kill him for letting this happen.

The voice of Deputy Hudson breaks through the air, drawing everyone's attention towards the left, "Oh fuck, there he is."

"Crazy mother-fucker," Staci Pratt, another deputy, adds. He only glances at the monument for a split second. Nevertheless, it's enough to leave an impact.

Eve stares, it's all she can do. She'd only ever seen the statue at a distance. From the jail it was just a symbol, just some clump of rock that crackhead Faith commissioned. The only details she could even see were his basic shape and that stupid fucking book. Here, where the statue is close enough to look in the eye, she can tell just what Joseph Seed looks like.

Eve concludes he looks like one pompous son of a bitch.

She'd never met the man, not in person that is. Just heard the rumors, saw the blurry videos from inside the compound, even caught a glimpse of his face in one of the local newspapers. Never really had a moment to study what the bastard looked like up close. Despite it being a statue, she knows that it's him. Faith wasn't one to go half way. She wants perfection from everyone, this is no exception. This is the closest to reality Eve will see until she meets the man.

The others begin to speak back and forth in normal conversation, each brushing off the eerie sight as if it were some small annoyance. She guesses they find solace in each other. Guesses they find it's easier to cope when not staring at a symbol of death. Eve doesn't have the same sentiment. He's not here, no, but looking away feels like bending the knee. Thus she keeps her eyes on the statue, choosing to metaphorically face him head on rather than fall under his gaze. Even if that means looking over the edge of the helicopter. So, Eve watches until Joseph's replica is out of sight, until they're close enough to the island that she doesn't need to put all her frustrations on some idol. She'll be meeting the man face to face soon enough. He'll be right there and she can let him have it. Sure, she can't punch his stupid face in, but letting the legal system have at him might be just as fun. That is if the legal system actually fucking works. John could prove to be too good for them and-

She doesn't think about it much. She can't, or else she'll break.

It doesn't take long for Joseph's compound to come into view, replacing the Montana views with junkyard decor. Tires and metal sheets litter the land, acting as some sort of barricade. Rusted metal painted with that damn cross-looking symbol are everywhere. Fucking propaganda if she'd ever seen it. The once lone church is now a set of several buildings, all seemingly built by hand. Eve thinks it's an eyesore. Too much garbage plastered up for protection and too many guns. Like they're ready for a damn war, which they are. Eve knows it's meant for them, but damn they didn't even attempt to look unsuspecting.

Weapons are drawn the minute they begin to lower and she can't help but feel a bit excited (as well as a little woozy). It's sick, she realizes that, but this is what she's been waiting nearly five months for. Burke seems to feel the same, but the others are more uneasy than anything. They just see another problem.

Whitehorse concludes that's all this really is. Another problem that should be left to the big guns. How on God's green Earth are they going to arrest this asshole without starting some sorta war? Without someone ending up dead?

"Fucking hell," Eve whispers,taking the words from his mouth.

He wants to agree. Hoot and holler that this is, in fact, fucking hell. Loud enough that this whole peggie-saturated post can hear. Fortunately, he knows that's not a good idea. They're already whispering, speaking in hushed tones of the law's arrival like it's been written in stone. Knowing Joseph, he probably convinced them it was.

Eve is the first one out, desperate enough for solid ground that she throws all caution to the wind. The only thing she knows is that she never wants to leave this planet again. Not unless she has to that is, and even then she'll be hesitant.  
At some point the others group up around her. She doesn't notice at first, too focused on thanking God for the safe landing and the adrenaline bubbling in her chest. A soft nudge from Joey is enough to bring her back to the reality of their situation. Back to whatever hell this is.

"They'll be in the church. Stick close," Whitehorse says, more to her than anyone else. For a brief moment Eve doesn't know whether to be insulted or thankful.

She makes up her mind when she sees the people lying in wait, choosing to be thankful for the comment. Eve's beyond sure that if Whitehorse hadn't reminded her not to fall behind, these doomsday mother-fuckers would have snatched her up like a free meal. She is the weakest target afterall. It'd be so easy to take her out with all the shit they've managed to grab.

The rookie doesn't know how they did this, how they managed to horde these weapons and snatch all these people. It's terrifying. Especially since the people -peggies- look so damn wild. Almost like animals with only one base instinct to protect their leader. Which she finds ironic, seeing as a true leader should be the one protecting the pack. She's not surprised though. Eve already knows Joseph is no real leader. He'd much rather play in the background whilst people die and kill in his name.

"Just don't look them in the eye kid," Whitehorse mutters into her ear, hand patting her shoulder rather softly as he makes his way to the front. It's hard to do, he admits that, but looking crazy in the eye is never a good idea. Especially when crazy is holding guns. Thankfully, the newly appointed deputy heeds his advice and takes to casting her gaze away from the stares and glares of the cultist community.

Burke doesn't listen to Whitehorse's words. He's too focused on getting to their destination up ahead. The little white church with a towering steeple harbors their target. By the looks of it they may have trouble getting in. Which makes sense, they are the enemy here after all. That's why they need to get in and out as soon as possible.

Before they can pass the gate Amazing Grace is ringing in everyone's ears. The words feel like scratching a fork on ceramic, heavy and off-putting. So, so wrong. The tone of the voices make things clear, this isn't about redemption, but retribution. Cleansing yourself in favor of this 'father'. It's sick, and she can't help but feel gross listening to it.

The singing grows with their stride, falling into beat together as they make their approach. The uneasy feeling grows within them all, and their youngest deputy is far beyond tense with the situation. Her steps become slower as she listens. If it were any other time, any other place, Eve would have been comforted by the singing. It was a happy song, something she only ever linked to good things like her grandmother, children's choir, and watching her brother fall down the church's steps during communion. Hearing it ominously leak from the church is enough to stain any good feelings.

"Keep walking," The marshal says when he notices her beginning to fall behind. He's clenching the warrant tightly, almost as if someone might rip it from his hands any seconds. Knowing the people here, that just might happen.

His instructions are easy to follow, especially since their exit is slowly being filled by a small sea of cultist. Seeing that makes all of them uneasy. Especially since that is their only ticket out of here.

It doesn't take them long to walk the path. Surprisingly none of the peggies even try to stop them. Just stand there attempting to intimidate. Waving guns around, trying to strike fear into their hearts. It doesn't work on the seniors, but Eve admits she's scared. Even more so when Burke slaps his hands down on Eden's door.

_Are you trying to piss of the weaponized cultist?_ She thinks, chiding her friend for his impatient actions.

"Woah marshal, if we're doing this, we're doing it my way," Whitehorse states, quickly catching the eager man's hands, "Quietly, calmly. You got it?"

Burke is swift in his answer, pulling the door to the secluded church open in a rather brazen manner. Squeaky hinges announce their arrival and chipped walls with scribbled phrases plastered on their face greet them.

Whitehorse sighs, following the motions with a bit of resistance. This wasn't what he wanted, what any of the locals really wanted, but he knows the marshal isn't a listener. He's a man fed by order and anger. Reason doesn't fall within his grasp. Keeping that in mind, Earl tells his two senior deputies to stay behind, watch their backs and don't let shit get out of hand.

Their rookie is with him.

"You'll be fine," Joey whispers to her as she passes. Eve doesn't believe that. The gates of hell have just opened, but she's going to use that to her advantage.

No reply leaves her lips, despite how much she wants it to. Instead Eve just nods and smiles. Prays that the next few steps won't be her last. And prays that if they are, Will won't be waiting on the other side ready to scold her for her recklessness.

With her little prayer, she takes a weary step, one that makes the floor creak and causes more than a few glares to be thrown her way. Anxiety eats away at her mind, tells her to get out of there now, but determination pushes her into the church. All while revenge cheers her on.

"Something's coming," Joseph says, strong and assured, "You can feel it, can't you?

Those are the first words she hears from Joseph and it almost knocks her off her feet. His voice is smooth, too smooth and silky to be coming from a murderous preacher. For a second she can't even focus on what he says because she's so fixated on how he says it.

"-and that is why we started The Project. They will come," Joseph's voice rises, trying to put meaning behind every little word he spews, "They will try to take from us. Take our guns, take our freedom, take our faith."

Eve can't see him clearly. His face is shaded from the light, disoriented by the fog, but there's enough visible for her to know it's Joseph. Without a shirt and his hair tied up on top of his head, he looks like one of the men who'd try and hit on her back when she waited tables. Some may claim it looks holy with the way his natural state seemingly shines under the window. She only sees a half-naked demon lying in wait. Something evil hiding under the guise of a halo.

"We will not let them," He goes on some more, rambles in the way only a religious zealot can. Eve doesn't catch any of it.

The marshal and sheriff begin to speak. Soft-spoken in their discussion, they let Joseph continue to spout bullshit as they come to an agreement. Something she wished the two would have solidified sooner. Seeing as they're arguing though, it's pretty clear that this was always going to be a last minute decision. No preparation would have really helped here.

"Joseph Seed!" Marshal calls, demanding the attention of the church as he holds up the paper he'd carried this whole way. The sheriff rubs his forehead, wincing at the brash behavior, "I have a warrant issued for your arrest on the suspicion of kidnapping with the intent to harm."

The air is tense with fear. Thick, heavy, and hard to breath. People in the pews are beginning to yell. Whitehorse says something to Eve, something she can't make out about an escape plan. As much as she wants him to clarify, asking him right now probably isn't the best idea.

"Now I want you to step forward and keep your hands where I can see them," Burke finishes. He's still confident, even as Eve's begins to waver.

Joseph smiles. As if this is a joke. A small inconvenience. He raises his hands in defense, "There they are, the locusts in our garden," As if on cue, men and women move in front of him, leaving their seated positions in favor of trying to block the path, "They've come for me."

Eve wants to yell under the pressure. Yell at the thick-skulled hillbillies gathering at his feet. How can this man have so many people willing to defend him? He's a kidnapper, a torture, a murderer. How can they be so blind to these facts?

"They've come to take me away from you. They've come to destroy all that we've built!"

Someone reaches out to grab at her, but Earl shuts it down real quick, yell commands at the growing crowd. Back off. Remain calm. Sit down. They don't listen, but she didn't expect them to.

In a shocking turn of events, Joseph walks down willingly, giving Eve her first real view of the slimeball that took over Hope County. Despite the statue looking like his twin, she comes to the swift conclusion that there is something missing from the big hunk of rock outside. He's got a charm, a sparkle in his blue eyes, that no replica could ever capture. Plus, she doubts the greasiness of the living version could ever be recreated.

Joseph's people calm at his put-together demeanor, "We knew this moment would come."

_Of course he'd say that_ , Eve internally jests, rolling her eyes. He'd say anything to appear all knowing. It's weird, but it works. He wouldn't have this whole gig if it didn't.

Joseph goes on, but she doesn't listen. The ramblings of Joseph get old quick. Eve finds her attention falling to the back of the church, catching three figures slowly take stage. Two men, both visibly older than herself, and one younger woman. They're fairly easy to identify as Joseph's siblings, or heralds, as he likes to call them. Eve hadn't ever seen them, but she knew from word of mouth that Jacob had fiery red hair and John walked around in million dollar duds. Faith was the only girl, but looking at her now Eve notices Joey's description of 'a crackhead fairy' fit her well.

She'll admit though, Faith is rather beautiful. Despite her drugged out appearance and lack of shoes, the woman manages to look caring and pure. Which is funny considering her brother is getting arrested and she's standing here smiling as he sends their 'flock' away. For a moment, Eve wonders if she even knows what's actually going on. Maybe she's too drugged up to notices what's right in front of her.

Then Faith looks at Eve and smiles, throwing that thought out the window.

Wait, they're all staring at her.

"I saw when the lamb opened the first seal and I heard as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts say come and see," Joseph says, hands raised higher as he speaks directly to them now. Him shifting to Biblical phrase pulls Eve from the sibling's gaze. She notices now he isn't preaching to the masses anymore, he's preaching to them. Which Eve finds scarier.

Burke demands, "Step forward!"

"And I saw. And behold, it was a white horse," Silence follows after as he takes a step, turning his head from Whitehorse towards Eve, "And hell followed with him."

Blue eyes catch her own; an intruder looking into her soul. She can only leer and furrow her brow at his actions. Looking isn't a crime, even when it feels like you're being taken apart right on holy ground. Eve breaks their eye contact, but remains firm in her stance despite how violated she feels.

"But, my lamb, you are no hell. Just misguided," Joseph says, momentarily taking the air from her lungs as she tries to wrap her mind around what he just said. Misguided? He has the nerve to call her misguided? After all the shit he's done? Anger begins building in her chest. How dare he.

Her eyes frantically search the room, trying to find something that isn't him so she doesn't blow her top (because she's certain that she can, and will, if she looks at his face for a second more). The only thing she finds is his family, smiling, like this is some fucking joyous moment of their life. Their brother, their leader, is getting arrested and they're just smiling. Faith's progressed to giggling now. She doesn't understand their actions at all

Burke widens his stances to cover Eve, "Rookie, cuff this son of a bitch."

For a split second she hesitates, too caught up in Joseph's words and the weird on-goings of his siblings. She finally snaps out of it when he holds his arms out to her, claiming loud and clear, "God will not let you take me."

That pushes her forward. Gives her the kick to cuff him too tight with his wrist at an awkward angle. He doesn't protest, just smirks, in that creepy way only villains seem to be able to. Eve spits a reply through her teeth, "Well I hope God decides to rethink that choice."


	2. Take Aim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just FYI, everyone can hear the radio conversations. I'm pretty sure this is cannon, but if not, well, whatever. 
> 
> Also I don't know why I hate my work, but I do know I can't be stopped because John seed is an asshole.

The arrest of Joseph Seed didn't go like Eve thought it would. 

Which, she honestly doesn't know how she expected it to go. Sure, trouble was anticipated, it always is when you're dealing with trash like this, but that was a complete shit fest. It was so bad that she's almost convinced it couldn't have gone worse. Some might have said that's rookie talk, but she knows this isn't her inadequate training speaking. Eve's pretty sure if that was the case she'd be in the same position as the others. Taken. Thrown into indoctrination head first. If a fucking marshal can currently be in the cult's hands, then her get away was a miracle. 

She thinks maybe it was God's way of telling her to get her ass into gear. That her miraculous escape and eventual rescue was him saying get up and take this county back. If it's not him, she's sure as hell surprised she's still breathing. According to Dutch, she and another person crashed into the Henbane off that giant ass bridge down the road. She'd walked out of it with a concussion and a broken nose. Didn't wake up for two day. He wasn't sure she was going to. Thankfully she only came out of it with some memory loss and a slightly crooked nose.Sure, she wishes she knew what the fuck happened, but it doesn't matter. The outcome would always be the same, Staci, Joey, and Burke are being held God knows where whilst Whitehorse seems to have vanished off the planet. 

After a week's worth of rest, Eve took a radio and a pistol and headed out. Dutch had said she wasn't fully healed yet, but at that point in time she couldn't care less. Pain has always been a part of her life. A fairly healed concussion wasn't enough to keep her from getting her coworkers back and sinking her teeth in the sweet dessert that is revenge. This way of thinking is how Eve, or now Rook as the locals refer to her, found herself stumbling into Holland Valley. 

She'd come into 'John's region' like roaring fire, tearing up anything and anyone related to the cult. Within three days of being in the valley Eve had destroyed more than a few oil tankers, liberated an apple farm, and saved a young dog named Boomer, who'd taken up with her after his rescue. From then on they just wandered, blowing up silos and helping people when they needed her. It wasn't a lot, but fuck, if it wasn't enough for John to beef up security and plaster 'WANTED: ALIVE AND UNHARMED' posters all over the valley. 

It's not horrible. Battling the growing onslaught of peggies isn't too bad with Boomer around. He's useful when it comes to letting her know about nearby enemies, allowing her to avoid them most of the time. On rare occasions when fighting is unavoidable, Boomer manages to hold his own. That's more than she can say for some of the cultists. Their threat is minimal thanks to him. 

His flyers, on the other hand aren't even a threat. They're just a nuisance. A freaky nuisance that leaves a bad taste in Eve's mouth and a million questions running through her head. One that persists at the front of her mind is how on Earth did he get her photo? The posters used a picture of her angrily staring the camera down as the blur of her hand takes aim with a pink pistol. It weirds her out to the point she attempts to cover up as much as possible to avoid John's fucking cameras. Eve takes them down when she spots them. Sometimes even draws on them just to lighten the mood (and take her mind off the knowledge that John has a way to snap photos of her inconspicuously). It's her picture, she can do what she wants with it. That includes writing a long list simply stating all the ways John can go fuck himself. 

Which leaves the one thing Eve just cannot stand, his fucking radio calls.

His first call came about three days after she started tearing down those damn posters. In the middle of the night, when Eve found herself curled up in a barn with Boomer under her arm trying to sleep off the day's work, John's voice blared to life on her portable radio. It took her by surprise, like jolting awake after dreaming of a fall. 

"Good evening deputy," His voice had shaken the sleep from her bones and caused her to shoot from her nestled position. She had made a run for the radio when she finally regained her wits. Before she'd even listen to the buffoon that was John, she had to lower the sound on the radio, "Tonight I'd planned on sitting down and having a nice meal with my family. It's something we try to do once a week, but since this all took off we don't do it much anymore. Even less with you running around."

She bit her tongue and refrained from speaking. John, she knew, would only be encouraged by replies. If she stayed quiet, maybe the asshole would shut up and let her sleep. 

That was only wishful thinking. John was as considerate as he painted himself to be. He continued, "But when one of my men brought me your little note," She automatically knew what he was talking about. Whilst Eve had written many lists ranging from insults regarding Joseph's hair to ways she was going to blow up that statue in Faith's region (as well as the one stating all the ways John could go fuck himself), the young rookie ever wrote one note. It was addressed to the entire family and consisted of three paragraphs worth of her future plans for them. The whole thing was vulgar, demeaning, and intentionally offensive. A smile blossomed on her face just thinking about the four sitting at a table reading her masterpiece. To think she had become a big enough problem that they talked about what to do with her made Eve laugh, "Our dinner became less of a family get-together in favor of more planning regarding what to do with you and that mouth of yours."

She was sure John had plenty of things he wanted her to do with her mouth. Things unbefitting of a preacher, but definitely worthy of the playboy John was before he drank the kool-aid. 

"I suggested we find you as soon as possible. Stick you someplace you can't get hurt; some place you can't hurt others," John hummed, as if it was a simple, easy solution, "But Joseph objected. He said it wasn't the right time," even now, she's sure that's a bunch of bullshit, "Enjoy this freedom while it lasts, you'll be home soon enough."

Eve knew at that point she had to make a statement. She would not be caught, and she would not let people think she'd be caught. So, she went out, blew up two silos and liberated Fall's End. It was a hell of a job with everyone trying to capture her, but in the end it worked out in her favor. 

Of course, John was pissed. Not like she cared, but fuck if he knew how to make sure she regretted every choice she ever made just by opening that fucking mouth of his,"So, deputy, I see you've taken Fall's End for your little resistance. While I'm disappointed in your actions, I'm impressed that you've managed to get by this long without capture."

She ignored his chides at first, focusing on the meal Mary May had placed in front of her and the conversation she was having with some farmers. He'd continued though, loud and boisterous to the point someone asked her if she could turn him off. Eve wanted to, but due to the radio being the only way Dutch could contact her, she denied and apologized. Before dinner she had prayed to be able to eat her meal in peace, to be given the luxury of a sit-down meal without any interference, but that fucking Gucci ass couldn't take a hint. Instead he talked, going on and on about her purpose in a way that made her head ache. 

Finally, after a good twenty minutes of his chatter (and a few disgruntled bar patrons storming out), she cracked, "Will you shut the fuck up already?"

Eve knew the moment after her lashing out that her reaction was a mistake. John had been practically begging for her to respond. It fed his ego in a disgusting way to hear her give in and reply.

"Well, that wasn't the reply I wanted, but I'm glad to know you're listening. Next time, silence won't be an acceptable answer." 

Two days later he raised the stakes again. Nearly every outpost, lookout, and patrol had at least one person armed with bliss, making her job much harder than ever. Before all this, only John's roaming capture party held the resource. Everything had been totally unbalanced in her favor seeing as everyone else couldn't even touch her. Now it was completely different. They had the upper hand. One shot from a bliss bullet and she'd be down, heading to a fate she's only ever thought of as worse than death. 

His actions are why she finds herself here, standing at the foot of three Hollywood style letters spelling out John's favorite word. This was, admittedly, a dumb idea. Blowing up John's giant YES sign would have grave consequences, some including her own harm if this didn't go correctly. Eve refuses to back out now though. She'd hiked with an ass-load of ammo and rpg just for this. She isn't going to hike back down with them. 

"Stupid John, stupid Joseph," She grumbles, loading the weapon as a string of curses leave her mouth. The ammo is too heavy for her liking, it's explosive continents making her a bit uneasy, but she pushes past that. 

Eve's more than a bit bitter she has to be doing this at the moment. It's the middle of summer, when heat is at it's worst and bugs are swarming in record breaking numbers. Hiking up here had been a pain in the ass all by itself, never mind everything else. With little tree covering her pasty skin burns under the sun. Sweat is rolling down her cleavage and her legs are chafing in these forsaken jeans Mary May loaned her. That's not the worst of it though. The heat causes her flares to begin, the tough terrain makes blisters appear on her heel, and fighting the wildlife has added the cherry on top of this shitty day. Maybe she's just complaining to complain, but at least fighting bad guys is fun.

With everything loaded, she takes aim, ignoring the downfalls of the day to watch the sign fall. Her first shot hits the 'S' at the very top, breaking the material and scattering it a good distance. Eve ducks at the first impact, calling Boomer to do the same, before quickly recovering and loading another shot. In total she pulls the trigger four times to destroy the 'S'. The effort of it all makes her consider leaving the sign as 'YE', but her father's voice rings in her head about how bad leaving projects unfinished is for the soul. Eve commits to taking the remaining letters down, despite her own personal feelings. 

In the end, the sign takes a good hour to blow to smithereens. She doesn't doubt someone far more experienced could have destroyed it quicker, but fuck, she's tired. She also did this by herself. Give her a damn break. 

While the destroyed sign isn't a very pretty sight, especially with all the white remains littering the grass and sliding down the slopes, Eve finds it much more appealing. Sights have always been prettier without advertising. Especially of the cult variety. Mary May must agree, because within minutes of her finishing, she's hollering on the radio. 

"Shit Rook," Her drawl mixing with her excitement, "Did you just blow up the sign?"

Eve laughs, swiftly packing up her gear with one hand as she pushes down on the side of her radio with the other, "Course I did, and don't let anyone tell you different. Took me too damn long for someone else to get all the credit."

Mary laughs. It's a familiar sound now, hearty joyful, far from delicate. Eve enjoys the sound though. Much better than that of gunfire or fucking bears, "Well ain't that the prettiest sight I've seen in a long time," Mary May pauses, another chuckle escaping her lips, "We should celebrate getting rid of that God-awful thing. Come down and I'll break out the good stuff."

Eve doesn't know what Mary May considers to be good stuff. The woman drinks piss beer on the daily, so her standards are pretty low. Or maybe Eve's standards are high. Considering she grew up in Budweiser country, she doubts that. 

"I'll be a bit, so don't worry about pouring me a glass just yet," Eve replies, making her way down the mountainside. Boomer is already a few steps ahead scouting the area out. 

Mary May agrees to her request, cutting out shortly after. Her vocal departure leaves Eve in unwelcomed silence. Which, isn't something you'd expect to hear from an elementary teacher, but with three younger brothers and four years of second graders under her belt, she knows silence isn't always golden. Especially in situations like these where people are always looking for ways to sneak up on you. She assumes it's paranoia, but it just doesn't seem right. Montana forests are noisy with creatures. Eve should be hearing something. Bears, bees, birds, something. Instead it's just silent.

As if he heard her thoughts, a familiar, grating voice blares from the radio, "Deputy," John Seed announces, voice rising higher than she's ever heard before, "I've had it with this little uprising of yours. This ends now. My men are coming for you, tell that little bartender of yours not to hold up."

His voice is strained, almost held back. Like he wants to say more, to scream and tell her exactly where to shove her growing resistance. Joseph wouldn't like that though and Eve knows just how much that spoiled brat tries to impress his older brother. 

"John, shut the hell up. If I wanted any shit from you, I'd squeeze your head," Eve's quick to respond, pushing the radio right up against her lips. 

There isn't any retort on his end. No, he's most likely too mad to form a string of words nice enough for his herald image. Instead, the whirling of helicopter wings is his reply. The sound kicks her ass in gear, sending Eve and Boomer running. Fuck, where did they come from? Eve doesn't know and doesn't have time to think about that right now. He'll have people on the ground somewhere and she has to make sure they do not find her. They're most likely where the forest breaks. Probably waiting for them with truck-fulls of bliss. Eve will have to avoid sparsely wooded areas and-

Shit, something just hit her leg. 

Looking down she sees what she knows to be a bliss bullet. Blood stains her jeans and her legs become wobbly, like they'd been replaced with twigs. People shout, but their words are too fuzzy to understand. Blurry figures enter her vision as she falls. She reaches out for them, mutters something she doesn't even under stand, but they eventually disappear as the white sparkles of bliss overtake her mind. 

Eve knew it was too fucking quiet.


	3. The Stages of Bliss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve seems to get in more trouble with bliss than with anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously I don't know how to feel about this chapter. I didn't want to skip bliss illusions and also wanted to show that Eve is way to reactionary for her own good.

Surrounded by flowers and a blurry glow, Eve awakens in a field.

At first she can't make much out besides tall pale grass and muted orange specks. It's hard to look at with the way everything glows like staring directly into a hazy sun, but the uncertainty of a new area forces her to observe her surroundings. From the ground she see gloomy, cloudy skies and smudges of green blowing in the wind. Something pink is lying out of the corner of her eye, but whatever the hell it is scurries into the grass before she can even attempt to identify. Things closer become clearer as she blinks the heaviness from her eyes, but the tips of the grass and stems are still fuzzy without her glasses.

Fuck, her glasses. Where the hell did they go? She instinctively pats the top of her head. A groan escapes her lips at the stiffness of her arms, questions running through her head when wire frames aren't felt in their normal hiding spot. The young woman combs her mind for information, backtracking through the past few days for any indication to their whereabouts. Eve hasn't taken them off for a week now. Not even to sleep in fear she'd have to kick into gear at the ass crack of dawn. She couldn't have misplaced them. They might have always fallen off at some point, but she's pretty sure she'd notice that. Maybe they're in her bag-

"Welcome to the bliss."

That explains it. Heat over takes her cheeks at the realization. She's a bit embarrassed she didn't notice sooner this wasn't real, but hell, who knew bliss accounted for shitty vision? Eve thought in a world so beautiful, so blissful that she'd never want to leave, she'd at least get her damn eyesight back. Sadly that isn't the case. Instead she finds herself trapped in her mind with a nutjob, minimal vision, and no escape.

"I know you've heard stories about us," The voice, easily identifiable as Faith's (a sound she'd only heard over the radio or being mimicked by Mary May), rings in her ear without letting her adjust to the sound. It's a soft chime compare to the ruckus she's used to, but still makes her eardrum ache, "That we're thieves, that we're liars,"

Eve rises, compelling herself to get up despite the weight pushing against her body. It takes effort to get to a seated position, so much so she's pretty sure she couldn't stand if she tried, but Eve's thankful to at least have managed it. She can see more now, a clear path and a distant figure moving from side to side. Behind her stands a willow tree. It's the clearest thing in the picture. Golden and white, intimidating with its size. Her heart beats loudly in her chest, fear forcing it to speed up as she realizes she's been rendered immobile.

This isn't real, she knows. Nothing here is real, not the sky or the butterflies or even Faith. They're all targeted illusions planted in her brain by the mistress herself. Eve doesn't know how it works, but knowing that it does indeed work is a step in the sight direction.

"That we're murderers," Faith says, her words sounding like they'd been dipped in honey and sprinkled with sugar. It's sweet bait that makes Eve want to bite, to let go of the pressure in her chest, but the word murderer has her blood running cold. Despite the angelic musings, she manages to keep her head on her shoulders long enough to remember they are murderers. They kill people. They killed her _husband_ , but she has a hard time believing that fact, "Let me tell you a different story, a true story."

That's all this will be; a story. Eve's learned by now Faith's word is worthless. She's manipulated hundreds into becoming slaves to the father, turned even more into drugged out angels. Faith is the living embodiment of force, of manipulation. Yet, something in the back of her mind is nagging to believe. It's small, but loud. Significant enough that her thoughts slowly become a warzone.

"There used to be a girl living a life of anger, a life of _wrath_ and _sorrow_." She began again, the figure in the distance drawing closer. Eve still can't tell exactly what it is, but she's got an idea, "She was scared of everyone; terrified to the point of lashing out at friends and family. People were hurt by her words more often then helped. Soon, many left because they could not bare the burden of her actions any longer."

As the figure twirls closer, a tall brunette with a white dress takes place. Admittedly, the details aren't all there, but Eve can make out muted colors and a faint glow. Almost like looking through a foggy window.

"Without anyone around to guide her, the girl fell from grace. She sought comfort from a man God had not intended her to be with and found herself promising her love to him. This left the woman reliant, weak, and confused," Faith informs, tone turning a bit harsher as she finally comes into view. The first thing Eve notices about her is her height. She's a towering five feet and six inches, much taller than Eve when she's standing, nevermind sitting. It's domineering, but Faith's eyes calm any thoughts of danger from rising. They're blue and captivating in a way that draws Eve in just enough that she almost believes them, "She's strayed from the path, but God will not allow her to keep her from her purpose any longer."

She places a hand on Eve's cheek. It's smooth, softer than the dry skin there, and oh so warm. Eve finds herself leaning into it as Faith lifts her right hand to push back some rouge strands of hair. Rounded nails tickle her hairline in a comforting way, reminding her a bit of how her mother used to play with her hair. Run her fingers through what used to be long locks until Eve would fall asleep. Faith doesn't do that though. After she's finished tucking the hair behind Eve's ear, her hand drops to grasp the older women's chin.

"Her family, _your_ family, is here," Words are uttered, but at this point Eve doesn't understand them. She just know Faith's lips are moving and what she's saying is good. It's good and holy and right.

But it's so fucking wrong.

______

Waking up is an unusually slow process for Eve. She's always been quick to recover from sleep, natural or induced, so struggling not to fall back into the dark is an unexpected fight. Naturally, she's willing to face it head on, because she knows she cannot go back to sleep here. Wherever here is. She has no idea, but thankfully Eve's not totally clueless.

Bliss has ruined her thoughts. Sentences are often unfinished, left to bounce around until she eventually catches them again. Eve can't hold most them for long, but she's able to rack her brain, putting together all the important pieces. She was shot with bliss, that comes first thanks to the stinging in her leg and weird trip to Faith's world. Next is how she got in this position, how John was the one who ordered her capture after she blew up his sign. Fucking prick.

Eve's still figuring out how to gather the strength to open her eyes, but she's getting there.

"When will she wake up?" Someone asks, sudden and out of nowhere. Besides the occasional coughing, ventilation, and some monitor beeping, there hasn't been any other sound. This is the first she's heard from someone in God knows how long. Eve's quick to recognize the owner. John, that fucking voice is John. Grating, whiny, John. She wishes he never spoke at all.

There's a sigh, delicate and feminine, "Soon, I'd say within the next hour or so."

Faith, Eve has listened to that voice long enough to know that. It sounds much clearer now. She suspects that's from the lack of bliss, which makes everything sound like it's been muffled by cotton.

There's a long frustrated exhale that follows in reply, but someone shushes the noise. A different voice with a much heavier accent asks, "Is there anyway to know for sure?"

That's Joseph. She doesn't have much to say about him that isn't swear words and threats.

"Well, no. Some people react differently to bliss. Takes them a bit longer, but usually those are people already dependent on other substances. Of course, we don't know our deputy's history," Faith answers. She's not at all accusing, just a bit sad, "But the concussion could mess with it as well."

Shit, concussion, she forgot about that. Eve thought she'd been healed, but if they're mentioning it then it's not gone. She's been taking care of herself to the best of her abilities for a good three weeks now (or longer, she doesn't have a fucking calendar). Made sure not to overwhelm herself and managed to realize her limits amongst blowing shit up. Dutch told her to take breaks and not do anything that would throw her around like a test dummy. Knowing the peggies they probably just tossed her in the back of some damn pick up, jolsting all the sore bits around. No doubt undoing any progress that was made.

"I see," Joseph's voice is disappointed. _Well let me show you disappointment you fucking greaseball-_ "Then it's a waiting game. We mustn't waste this opportunity to put things in order. Faith, will you stay with her?"

Eve wants to throw herself up in protest. Leave her to Jacob's fucking wolves, at least they know what they're doing.

"Oh course," Eve can practically hear the smile on Faith's face. She's honored to be given this task. As if watching the rookie's concussed, comatose body was equal to guarding gold.

"I trust you'll notify us when she awakens?"

She must have nodded, or signaled, or something of the sort, because without another word the others leave. Eve tries to count their footsteps to see if Jacob is there as well, but they all mash together too much. Before she can even match shoes to sounds, they've dispersed. The door shutting behind them with a dreaded thud. For a moment the room enters silence again, and Eve relishes in it.

Faith's footfalls follow next, much lighter as her feet slap against the floor. The gentle sound of humming escapes her lips. It's a familiar tune, one she remembers from watching Lady and The Tramp throughout her life. Her higher pitched voice doesn't fit it as well, but truthfully, Faith doesn't fit the song at all.

She grabs Eve's hand when she reaches her bed side. Nimble fingers run over the creases and lines. It tickles, just like every touch from Faith seems to, but it's not nearly as comforting without the bliss. The tickle turns into an itch after a while, one that she wants desperately to scratch but fuck if she can't move and that bitch isn't helping the situation.

"I'm glad you're home" She says, flipping her palm over to plant a kiss. Eve wants to scream, "This isn't how I wanted it to go, but this is how it had to happen."

Humming switches to a soft singing of no song in particular. Just one word, sorry, over and over again. Droplets hit her skin as Faith begins to sniffle. She tries to shake her off, but the action results in no movement. Instead she's stuck being unable to communicate with a crazy person.

Deciding that sleep is better than this, Eve let's go of her stubborn hold of consciousness.  
______

Eve opens her eyes a few hours later, greeting an empty room just minutes after Faith heads to grab lunch. She thanks God for that. Now she can prepare without any Seeds bothering her. Sure, it's a limited time frame, but she's done a lot more with a lot less.

Detaching herself from all the wires, Eve swings her legs over the side of the bed. Restlessness eats away at her muscles and her mind tells her exactly what's going to happen. _You're going to fall the minute you try to get up._

And she does, flat on her ass.

It hurts like crazy, makes her want to lay down and just wait this all out. However, she doesn't have a moment to doddle. Faith's lunch can't take that long and she's got to find a way out. Or at least a way to keep those bastards away. To do that she needs a weapon. Which can't be too hard to find in a medical bay, but seeing as this is a private room and they probably put all the sharp ends up, it's going to be harder than just grabbing a scalpel and stabbing.

She looks around for an upper hand. Expectedly Eve doesn't find much. No sheets are on the mattress, no blankets are laying around, not even a plastic pillow on the bed. Undoubtedly this decision was to stop her from strangling or smothering, as if she could do those things in this state. All cabinets have locks on them and the three pieces of furniture were bolted down a long time ago. They wouldn't budge if Eve had her full strength, they definitely won't budge now.

The Seed's preparation makes for a frustrating sight. She wishes they weren't tactical people because she's sure a bunch of redneck dumb asses would have been easier to defeat. No, instead Jacob has to be some fucking veteran and John has to have a silver tongue. On top of that they also develop their own drugs. Eve's certain not even a regular dim-witted cult leader could make meth, let alone some new flower that gives people controlled hallucinations. Most just went with the creepy arranged marriage shit where all the important men have a billion wives. _Why couldn't they be normal cult leaders? No one would be in this mess of they were fucking normal doomsday preppers._

There's a lot of effort used to crash that train of thought. Bliss might have fucked her mind, but one thing's for sure, she can go on forever about those assholes. No matter how much she hates the family, she has to stop so she can actually get work done. Or else she might become a part of it.

"Shit," Eve sighs, pushing herself up on weak arms. Her bones are shaky, they hurt, but she's able to pull herself across the floor to a purple vinyl chair. The table next to it, which has Joseph's book and a lamp-

A lamp.

An unbolted lamp.

Her fragile body scrambles for it, yanking until the cord comes flying out of the outlet. In the process the plug nearly smacks her forehead, but she's too frazzled to even care. A crackled hand take the base of the neck of the lamp like a bat. A cool, white ceramic bat that will probably break after one hit. Can't complain though.

At first it's hard to hold up, nevertheless she pushes through, ready to swing as she begins to inch off the chair. Eve knows if she can get to the door she can take Faith down. Knock her feet from underneath then bash her forehead in. Bit gruesome, but there isn't another option at this point. Unless she wants to use her hands despite the fact she can barely make a tight fist.

Eve pushes herself to the edge of the chair, readying to slip down when a loud static enters the room. She recognizes the sound, an intercom system, one similar to the one her own classroom has. Hope bubbles in her chest that whatever will follow is just some announcement. It's for nothing, because in this world hope means little.

"I'm surprised to see you out of bed," John, it's always fucking John, "You hit your head pretty hard, but I suppose you figured that by now."

This development means one thing; they have a camera (or multiple) pointing at her. A backup incase things went sour, or possibly a way to watch a vulnerable woman. Creeps. She retaliates with her words, "Yeah, pretty sure your cocksuckers messed me up."

The youngest male sibling ignores her comment, although she can hear in his tone he's none too happy with it, "I've sent Faith back to retrieve you. While I thought this room would fit you and your destructive habits better, Joseph disagrees. Due to this, we've decided to settle where you'll be living as a family."

Family. They want to solve this as a family? They want to sit down and play house? Words bubble in the back of her throat. Millions upon millions of things she can, should, say to that man, but she's just too angry. Too angry to even speak.

There's a knock on the door. Eve doesn't answer, but the intruder doesn't care, entering anyway. Faith walks in rolling a wheelchair, two armed guards following suit. They're both young, around her age with Joseph's cross painted on their rag t-shirts. Faded words cut into their skin peek out from the sleeves, lust, wrath and pride on the first with wrath and sloth on the second. She's hard about the torture, about the skin being marked then ripped off when ready. These two must not be ready yet, or very frequent sinners.

With nothing left to lose, Eve takes a shot at sloth's heads. Like his scar suggests, his reaction time is slow, allowing the lamp to hit without any interference. As she suspected, it breaks upon impact, sending hundreds of tiny shards scattering across the concrete. Joy and pride blooms in Eve's chest seeing the male knocked out. Dead or alive, she doesn't care. Fucker was protecting a Seed. He deserves everything he gets.

Eve's joy begins to grow after seeing the large gash upon Faith's cheek. The plug must have hit her in the face, slicing the skin and causing her to bleed. The mark is easily three inches long, spanning across her ear to her cheek. Faith runs two fingers across the wound. Blood gathers on the skin and under her nails, but that doesn't seem to bother her much. Instead it seems Eve's action has hurt her the most. Tears well in her eyes quicker than the draw of her guard's gun.

Eve doesn't care.

Retaliation doesn’t go off without a hitch. The neighboring guard, some man with ratty hair and untrimmed beard, shoots her with another bliss bullet. She feels the effect immediately, falling back into the chair like a sack of rocks. Faith rushes to her side at the sight. Coos leave her lips as she reaches for Eve’s hands, trying to soothe her into the bliss.

"I'm not apart of your God damned family John," Eve manages to say against the pull. Before it takes her, she manages to catch his reply,

“You don’t have much of a choice.”

______

"Do you have a particular side dish you'd like for dinner?" John asks, standing in front of her at the stove. He's been messing around with preparations ever since she's woken up. Apparently tonight's their big family meal, which thankfully has distracted him enough for some peace and quiet. Unfortunately, two hours without more then a sentence from John is just too long. He needs to poke the bear and stretch those vocal cords.

Eve doesn't answer. Talking has not gotten her anywhere good. In fact, all she's received from talking is bliss and a worsened concussion. She's not going to risk missing out on escape just because she told John to shove a ladle up his tight ass.

"I was thinking something simple," He fills the silence with his own voice, "maybe mashed potatoes."

It's not hard for her to bite her tongue. She's done it many times, especially working in childcare. Funnily enough the kids are easy to handle. Her strength comes from the nonsensical complaints of parents. That being said, John is worse then any parent she's ever met. And yes, that includes the mother who told her she needed to change a second grader's report card because her daughter was smarter than a 'B'.

"You know," John says, turning around to face her for the first time since that failed arrest, "I do hate talking to myself."

_You could have fooled me._

"But I suppose you don't care for others much, from what you did to Faith it's clear you're a very self-serving person."

He turns from her again, back to the stove top where some water boils away. She wants to push his head in it. Let it melt his skin off.

Oh God, she sounds like her mother.

"Joseph said that would be the case," He speaks highly of his brother, "Without a guiding light, many begin to wander. It's our job to bring them, you, back on path. Whether you like it or not."

She had a guiding light, and it definitely was not the Seeds. No, William happened to be what they could only dream of. William made her happy, William saved her life, not some family with a god complex.

"Now, Rook, I do think we got off on the wrong foot," John says her appointed name like a slur. Turning the dial down first, he steps away from the stove top to stand in front of her seated form, "You were the one making all the trouble, fortunately I do recognize that the outside world has filled your head with lies. Of course you'll still have to atone for your actions. A baptism will be needed as well, but let's cross that bridge when we get there."

If her wrist weren't zip tied to the arms of her seat, she'd pop him right in that chiseled jaw. Sadly, she's limited only to verbal assault and kicks. Eve's not complaining though. She's pretty sure she can work with this. He just needs to get a little closer.

"I think we should get introductions out of the way before all that. You already know my name," John takes a two steps forward, close enough that he's able to lift her chin with his fingers, "What's yours?"

Then she knees him in the balls.


	4. Psychological Damage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like this chapter lmao. I'm trying really hard to show Eve being strong in a physical sense, but weak in a mental sense, and I suck at it. 
> 
> Also, I do want to apologize for the delay. One of my rabbits died (A beautiful little girl) and I've just been fucking pissed just because how it happened. 
> 
> I rewrote this three times and it's short by my standards. So I'm really sorry.

Somewhere in between John falling to his knees and his hands flying to clutch his stomach, a bundle of unholy curses slip from his mouth. The irony causes a smile to appear on her face, but the thinly veiled threats weaved in between his cussing is enough to make her cringe. She's smart enough to know that a threat from John is a spoken promise. It's nothing to take lightly, but Eve didn't come here to avoid conflict. That's made clear by her current state of capture. 

For a good five minutes he continues on, evolving into ramblings about things she doesn't understand and often can't quite hear. There's something about a purpose. Her purpose more specifically, but he never clarifies. Which, she guesses she should be worried about, but Eve's pushes it to the side. He goes on tangent about Eden that is nothing more than crazy cultist talk and even takes a swing at labeling her sins. Whatever that means. 

Eventually, after fumbling around and shifting from knee to knee, John manages to recover. He rises with a wince on shaky legs, a frown on his face so deep that she can practically feel how uncomfortable it is. His breathing is laboured, the skin of his forehead is creased, and the tips of his ears are bright red. All around, John looks absolutely furious. He only confirms this himself when he looks at her. Rage-filled eyes drill into her own and he raises a finger to point down at her seated form. 

"You wretched woman," He spits through strained lips. All the anger that's built up over the last month finally breaking through, "Who are you to deny God's purpose?"

There he goes with that purpose thing again. It doesn't make any sense to her, but she guesses that's because she doesn't know what 'her purpose' is. Eve is almost tempted to ask just to see what he says and how he rationalizes all this madness. She knows she wouldn't be able to get him to shut up if she did, so she decides against it. Still, the idea of pulling his leg is tempting. 

"I must remember, this is all God's plan, You weren't meant to come easy," He mutters, more to himself than to her. The thought visibly calms him and after a beat, a small sickening smile begins to grow. It's a bit unnerving to the woman strapped in the chair. Nothing good comes from a bad man's smile. 

He seems to notice her weariness and uses that to his advantage. With long legs, John moves to the side, out of Eve's reach but far too close for her liking. A wandering hand comes to rest on her shoulder, "But, eventually you will come. We must lead you, and the path begins with atonement."

Eve goes stiff. Atonement, that word coming from John is a dangerous one. She's seen enough of the scars and tattoos to know that for sure. Even though she isn't scared of pain, she's not dumb. She doesn't have access to a doctor out here and if anything were to go wrong, she'd be fucked. That is, of course, unless she wants to depend on the enemy. And that isn't an option. 

"I think we'll start off with arguably your most apparent sin," John's hand leaves her shoulder as he begins to circle to the other side. She hears his footsteps clicking on the floor, counting them until he reappears, face close to her, but body too far. She leans back, trying to escape the closeness he forces upon her, "Wrath."

Admittedly she knows he isn't wrong. Eve is a very wrathful being, despite all her attempts and efforts not to be. She'd tried therapy. Took a swing at redirecting her anger into something productive. Nothing worked, but she knows why now, and unfortunately nothing ever will work. Thankfully she has been able to use her rage on the Seeds. It's not what she'd call productive in a healthy sense, but it's definitely helping.

John walks over to his counter, sliding open a drawer in haste. All sorts of things clink together from the inside. The sound doesn't rest well with Eve. She knows being in a kitchen there's bound to be something sharp and pointy in that drawer. Something John will probably use to carve into her skin. The thought sends a shiver up her spine, and it only increases when he proves her correct. In a dramatic display, he pulls a knife from the drawer. He shows the tool off, turning it and running fingers across the blade. 

He doesn't even attempt to hide the smile on his face as he struts towards her. In his movements, she notices John moves like a cat. One foot in front of another, slow and drawn out with all the confidence in the world. Twirling the knife's hilt, John comes to a halt at her feet, obviously ready for any reaction on her behalf.

Eve weighs her options. She could take her chances kicking him again, but he'll most likely block any attempts and pay it back tenfold. Screaming is useless. Crying is even worse (She's beyond sure that would turn him on). Her best choice seems to be just taking the blade in silence, and that's a terrifying prospect. 

It's even worse when he actually begins to cut the top of her shirt. With jagged lines, the youngest Seed manages to slices off a few strips of her top. Eve feels embarrassed, but the look of interest growing in John's eyes leaves her with a scary mixture of fear and fury. She's sure she could break her bindings with that concoction alone, but doubts she could make it very far. Maybe the risk is worth it.

Eve hopes he'll have the decency to get this atonement over with as soon as possible. She doesn't know how long she can take his wandering eyes in her state of undress. He doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he seems a bit humored. 

"A scapular?" John chuckles, fingers reaching down and making contact with her skin. The touch causing her to shrink in her seat. They don't linger, pulling up with a piece of cloth, "Well, I certainly didn't take you for the religious type."

He pulls the cloth amulet from her neck, breaking it in a harsh display. John gives it a look over. Flips it from side to side and smiles. Then, as if it means nothing, he drops the religious medallion to the floor. She knows he's trying to wind her up, knows he's doing this all on purpose, and damn if it isn't working. 

"We would have been rid of that earlier, but Joseph felt wrong changing you in your sleep," He states, moving a hand to lay flat against her skin, "Jacob was a bit disgruntled by it, said you can learn a lot about what a person wears, and what they hide under their clothes."

There's a nod to her scapular as he brings the knife up to make the first incision. She doesn't see when he makes the cut, but she sure as hell feels it. Her chest is on fire. White-hot and getting worse by the minute, but she's able to stay quiet. Eve will not give John the pleasure of hearing her scream. Even as her mind begins to blur, she refuses. 

"We didn't have to look far to learn a bit about you," Another cut from a new angle. She can feel blood on her chest and she from experience it's going to leave a nasty scar. For a minute, she's almost too focused on her wound to hear his next jab, "When did you get married?"

Eve clenches her teeth, balling her hands into fists. Panic takes over her mind, only to be relieved when she runs a thumb over the familiar gold band. Her wedding ring is still there. She didn't expect it not to be, but then again, she didn't expect John to point it out in the first place. As if it was of any importance to him. Eve doesn't even feel him make another cut, too focused on comforting herself with the last piece of their union.

He just smiles, teeth and all, "Must be a touchy subject."

She wants to scream that yes, it is. That it's more than just a touchy subject. It's a newfound wound formed by his brother's hand. Something that will never heal. By the grace of God, she remains quiet. 

For a while, Eve appears unaffected. It isn't until around what she guesses to be the letter T that her head begins to spin. Drops of drool pass by her lips and a faint drumming stirs in her ears. Redness takes over her pale white face, blue eyes become bloodshot, and her heart hammers in her chest. Her head rolls back, and she thinks the brief moment free of John's face is what keeps her together. 

John slowly makes his finishing touches, drawing out the pain as long as he can. He moves at a snail's pace, digging deeper when he wants, and humming along with his work. It takes him minutes to finish the last letter and by the end Eve doesn't know how much more she could take. 

And with this finish, John walks to his drawers and grabs a rag. It's a white cotton cloth free of any stains. He runs it under the sink, then turns towards her with a soothed smile on his face. As if the beast inside him had been fed. Tamed by the spilling of blood. He strides back towards her with a newfound pep in his step. It's revolting.

Everything becomes worse when he begins to dab her wound with the rag. The pain isn't any worse than it was, but John's ego has skyrocketed. Just by looking at him, Eve can tell he thinks he's doing God's work and then some. That this is the extra mile and he is so much better for it. 

"There are many more things you must do, must atone for," John says, soaking up the dribbles on her chest, "And we'll get there, eventually. For now, we must prepare for dinner."

She doesn't feel the tears pooling in her eyes.


	5. To Dine With Demons

Looking into the mirror hanging in John's bathroom, Eve realizes just how bad her chest really is. 

Even without the blood, it's still a red, festering mess. None of the lines are clean cut, with most of the strokes tearing skin somewhere between the slices' gruesome start and brutal finish. Each letter is uglier than the next, more intense with destroyed dermis. The affected skin is raised in a blotchy patchy. Almost like when hives used to pop up on her body after eating a banana. It itches like a hive too, but she refrains from scratching in fear she'll do more damage. Instead, in view of the mirror, she begins to distribute neosporin evenly across the tissue. 

The care item is courtesy of John Seed. He surprisingly had the decency to provide her with some first aid after scaring her torso. Sure, it wasn't much besides an arm's length of rolled-up bandage and antibacterial cream, but his threats to add PRIDE on her shoulder if she objected hadn't left room to argue. Eve won't lie, she is a little bit happy he gave her something to bandage with. Of course, she's not thankful. She just expects him to pick up his mess. Which, he did attempt, but even with his little clean-up moment earlier her wound is ill protected. The neosporin will keep an infection from settling in, yet she doubts it'll do much good without a proper look over from a doctor. Especially since her skin and his tool of choice weren't exactly sterile. 

With her chest now covered in ointment, the task of wrapping begins. It's not going to be easy. She definitely doesn't have enough to cover as much as she wants, so it's unfortunately going to be a tight roll. Better than nothing she supposes. Before continuing her first aid, she takes her shirt and bra off. It's not a hard task seeing as both are already ripped to shreds. From there Eve moves on, pinching an end of the gauze under her armpit and beginning to unravel. Her chest stings when it makes contact. She can feel threads of the woven bandage catch on her sores and the ugly familiar burn that comes with the territory. In the safety of John's bathroom, with no one around and no ounce of dignity left, she allows tears to well. 

After two wraps, there isn't much left of the bandage. To her disappointment, there's still a huge portion of her uncovered, but she can't really fix it. So, she clips the end with a prayer that it stays together and turns to her less appreciated gift. A folded, yellow dress sits on the counter. It's a pretty dress. Tortoiseshell buttons on the front and a cute little pocket compliment the garment nicely. The breathable cotton fabric is perfect for work, making the dress all the more appealing. Maybe if it hadn't come from John, she'd have picked it for herself. 

Being forced to wear the garment makes all it's beauty fade. She'd love more than anything to just stick to her sweatshirt and jeans. Even in their worn down, mangy state, she prefers them to anything that jackass Seed gives her. John said that wasn't an option. He's a pompous prick who let her know everyone had to be looking nice at the dinner table. No exceptions. 

Tired hands work at undoing her pants. Her skin soaks up the freedom, loving the sweet release from it's confinements. Without any extra meat to her bones, the pants fall onto clothed feet, showing pale legs the first light of day they've probably seen in a week. It's easy to see the two appendages need to be shaven. Some lotion might do them some good too. She doesn't have time for that. Shouldn't waste it on getting pretty for the Seeds if she did. 

Without having to undo all the dress's buttons, Eve just slips it over her head. It's flattering, with a v-shaped neckline that steers clear of the word and a hemline ending right above her knee. The sleeves are the only downside. They loosley hang off her shoulders and scratch at her underarms. If she had scissors, she'd be more than half-tempted to cut the damn things off. 

A harsh knock cuts off her internal discussion, shaking all thoughts of alterations from her mind, "Are you done?" A gruff women's voice asks. There's haste in her voice and Eve feels rushed just listening to her. 

"Hold your horses," She responds, slipping her feet out of the ankles of her pants. Then, with her blood-stained shirt, bra, and pants in hand, she unlocks the door. To make her displeasure known, she flings the barrier open, "It's not like I have anywhere to be."

Her guard, a woman introduced by John as Florence, wears a prominent scowl on her lips. A mixture of disgust and murder dances in her eyes as she looks over Eve's newly clothed form, "Come here."

Florence has proven to be a hateful bitch. Yes, most of Eden's Gate are, but Florence is only out done by the Seeds themselves. In their short time together the younger woman had managed to make her captive bleed with talon-like claws, called her almost every name under the sun, and ranted about Eve being in their garden. Now, the deputy doesn't know what she means by their garden, as the Seeds don't care much for any of their people enough to actually include them, but she didn't try to stop her. The only way to end that kind of delusion is with a bullet, and Eve has been stripped clean. 

Sore feet carry Rook off the tile and onto the hallway floor. Within seconds she's greeted by familiar cold hands wrapping around her upper left arm. Muffled curses leave Florence's lips as she practically drags Eve off her feet. It's a bit too much and she almost faceplants in the stumble. Somehow she manages to get herself back on track, narrowly avoiding embarrassment and added pain. Her guard doesn't take much care towards Eve's strife. No second is wasted as she pulls her prisoner behind, forcing her to follow with a hardened hand. 

Her handler leads her down the hallway, passing several armed cultists on their way. The guard greets most of them with a friendly face. Most of them greet her back with an equally gleeful demeanor. It's a bit weird and frankly unnerving to see the inner workings of the cult. How everyone acts so normal with these surroundings. They treat this like a desk job and praise Joseph like Jesus. 

Which, she guesses he is to them. That's another thing she find fucking weird, but whatever. They do a lot worse then just worship a greasy old man. Hell, if that's all they did, she wouldn't even be inclined to be here. Wouldn't even care beyond that. If people decide to be idiots and follow a man of their own choice, who is she to step in and stop them? Sadly, the cult isn't just weird, they're fucking murderers too. 

Florence speaks with seven people in all, making a minute walk down the hall last ten minutes in total. Eve doesn't complain. Sure, her legs feel like jelly, but she's away from John. That's all that really matters. After putting a bullet in his head of course. 

Eventually they make it to the stairwell. The smell of cornbread drifts up from the lower floor, and Eve's got half a mind to stop from running down there just at the thought of food. It's been a while since she's eaten. Sure, she's had some nutrients with all those tubes hooked up to her arms back at the medical room, but not actual food. There's a big difference, and when she gets out she's going to give John hell for not offering her a bite sooner. 

Going down the stairs is a bit hard with her shaky legs and Florence's insistent tugging. In her state, a strong gust of wind could send her tumbling down. The demon lady is not helping. Yet, she manages to make it down the steps without anymore trouble than usual. That's a feat all in itself. 

At the bottom of the steps is a dining table neatly set with tableware and a vase of bliss flowers. Food dots the spaces not filled by the latter. When she originally ascended the table had been stacked with papers, empty water glasses, and various labeled file folders. Most of that stuff is gone now, replaced by dinner and the recognizable Seed family. She didn't know they'd be here now, and whilst food is tempting, those fuckers just aren't worth it. 

Wide eyes and pleased-to-see-you expressions greet her from four different directions. It's like walking into a classroom late. All the children staring at you with excited eyes and questions galore. They want to know where you were, what you've been doing, and if they can wesale their way out of actual work now by distracting you. Only difference is, children are cute. 

"Deputy," Joseph, seated closest to the stairs, speaks in a silky-smooth voice. The Father's eyes scan her body in a very unholy way, watching once unseen skin with peaked interest. She feels disgusted being admired by such a man. It's violating and fucking insulting, "You look wonderful."

Eve debates responding. Whilst a snarky reply would be on brand, and feel fucking amazing, she knows the Seeds get off on regoniztion. They wouldn't be cult leaders if they didn't. So she keeps quiet under their gaze. Her snubbing isn't missed, but isn't addressed directly either. She almost wishes it was, because their smiles are much creepier than good old confrontation. 

"How are you feeling?" Faith takes the moment to ask, remaining seated as Joseph begins to stalk towards her. He takes her by the hand, dismissing Florence with a thank you. 

She doesn't answer, but Joseph fills in the blank space, "I'd imagine your body is under a great deal of stress with everything that's happened."

Jackass. 

He's trying to be sympathetic. That's clear from the way he holds her hand, patting it in a soothing manner as he walks her to a seat between his own and John's. Eve sees past his honey tongue. She sees the glares of his brothers, the way he coddles her like a frightened animal, and the cuffs on the chair. If she was braver, she'd kick and scream. Be a real animal heading to the slaughter. 

Instead, she tiredly follows, rolling her eyes at the smirk on John's face. It's not clear whether he's happy with her submission or the WRATH on her chest. Probably both. His delightful look only grows as shes ushered into her seat. 

Joseph cuffs her to the chair as if he were buckling a child in with a seatbelt. He's soft in his motions, switching to take her left hand as she sits. He's careful not to put unneeded pressure on her tender skin as he cuffs metal around her wrists. When the restraints click, his smile is bittersweet. As if this isn't necessarily what he wants to be doing. 

Despite his puppy-dog eyes and sad smile, Eve doesn't believe him for a second. 

"Well," Joseph breathes out in a huff. He turns away from her suspicious gaze, taking his own seat, "With the Deputy here I think it's about time we got started."

The Father lands a palm on her captured hand. A prayer begins to fall from his lips. That's when Eve begins to tune him out. His religious praises are hypocritical and, in Eve's eyes, sacrilegious. Sure, she's had plenty of friends from different denominations. Plenty of friends from completely different religions. A few who weren't even religious at all (though they were small thanks to the minuscule population size). There was never a problem there, and if they prayed, she would respectfully sit to the side before muttering a blessing of her own. This isn't a respectful silence. She isn't waiting for him with a smile on her face. She's shutting out his lies. 

It's boring, but thankfully she finds a distraction in the other half of the table. Jacob, who's never spoken a word to her, sits besides Faith. They hold hands as Joseph blesses the food, both looking noticeably uncomfortable with the contact. The dynamic is interesting to watch. Unlike their weird universal love for Joseph, the two seem to be strangers. Well, no. As time goes on it's clear they actually are. 

Everyone's moving and suddenly Joseph's sweaty hand is absent atop her own. People are reaching everywhere, grabbing for pots and dishes and serving spoons. The whole scene reminds her a bit of Thanksgiving with her family. Everything is being passed around, dropped, and turned over. In under a minute the table top has more than a few spills coating it's wood. They're talking as they plop food on their plates, occasionally dropping a helping on Eve's as well. 

Up close, the food doesn't look too great. The side dishes are appalling with soggy green beans and floury mashed potatoes taking up most her vision. Some cranberry sauce, which she didn't know people even ate outside of Thanksgiving, has deflated in the center of her plate. It's juices soak into all the other ruined foods, adding pinky tones to their waters or tints. Out of all of this, John's main dish is by far the worst. Chicken breasts have been burnt in the oven, over seasoned with some sort of chili flake mixture, and drenched in oil. The meat resembles a hockey puck more than actual meat. Only one thing is actually appetizing, and that's a square of cornbread balancing on the edge of her plate. 

"Is it up to your standards?" John mockingly asks, drawing the table's conversations to a halt. 

Now, Eve doesn't really know why he's talking. She didn't even say anything, didn't even frown. Just kind of stared at the food as if she were staring into blank space. To imply that she has high standards just because she was just staring at his food is absurd. After all, she is the woman who eats school lunches and snacks on GoGo applesauce packs seeing that she uses them as rewards in her classroom. 

"No John, you're a shit cook."

It's not what he expected to say the least. After silence for a good three and a half hours he thought she'd continue not speaking a word. Without the mental preparation, a sneer slips across his lips.

"Watch your tongue," He seethes. The air is thick with unease, clearly causing the Father worry. Neither try to dismantle the tension. 

"Oh, I'm sorry," Eve spits, sarcasm dripping off her words. She quickly corrects herself, "John, you're an abhorrent cook, and that's not even the worst thing about you."

"You're very sure of yourself. To think you have the capability of differentiating right from wrong is laughable," There's a pause, a scoff, and anger. He's turning the conversation in his favor, "I should have added pride to your first atonement. Would have done you good."

And then she lunges, fork in hand, aiming for his jugular. People yell, her cuffs pull harshly on her captured arm; she's so close. Her chair comes off the ground to aid her efforts, but John leans out of the way. 

"Wrath," His words burn, and she stretches herself as far as she can go before Joseph is pulling her back. 

"Take the cuffs off and I'll show you fucking wrath, you cunt!"

Joseph's muttering something into her ear, calming and slightly chastising. Telling her it's okay, she's okay. That she needs to stop now. Let go of all this anger. She doesn't take too kindly to his intervention. Insults exit her mouth in rapid succession and she kicks her legs in protest, trying to get him in the shins. 

"Go to hell Joseph," She growls trying to elbow him, but failing miserably. 

He calls for someone and within seconds she feels more hands wrapping around her. They lock Eve in place, allowing Joseph to say to them, "Please, show Rook to her room."

Her room? The bastards have been planning this a while if they have a room for her. That thought makes her yell. Her words aren't really directed towards anyone specifically. She says something nasty about Joseph, something vile about John, something worse about their guards who have the nerve to intervene. No one can really understand though. 

Someone unlocks her cuffs, only to lift her from her chair and lock them a second later. Another person manages to catch her free fork-wielding hand and cuff that as well. With her hands behind her back, all that's left now are her feet. 

And they manage to restrain those too.


	6. Prove It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve meets someone she knows, and breaks some of John's shit by accident but it's okay he deserves it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more of a fille chapter. I'm sorry for the long wait, I cane home to a mess and have been doing a lot to work it out.

Despite John's cabin being fairly large, the room she's been locked in isn't much to marvel at. It's small. Cramped in a way that makes her feel like she'll suffocate. There's too much stuff from all directions. A lack of windows allows for the collection of John's past life to hang on the wooden walls, covering all vertical planes and overlapping in unappealing ways. Beneath the hanging decor, ornate furniture takes up most of the floor space, only allowing for a small walking path around the room. It's not wide enough. In an emergency it would be a hazard, but seeing how they treat people, the Seed's probably don't care about safety regulations. 

Before moving any further into John's glorified storage closet, Rook jingles the hand. She doesn't really believe the cult is that dumb to have left the door unlocked. Yes, she hopes they are. Most people would, seeing as pure incompetence is often the easiest way to an upper hand, and for once she'd like the simple way out. Like most things this past year, this isn't in her favor. The doorknob won't turn far enough to open and the solid oak refuses to budge under any form of pressure. It's as good as a wall now.

There's a soft huff that leaves her lips as she turns from the door, fingers dropping from the knob back to her side. Disappointment hangs from her features and the familiar feeling of anxiety begins to stir in her stomach. Without any exit, Eve recognizes she has to play the waiting game. Eventually someone is going to come in for her and she can go from there. It's not a quick solution, definitely not what she wanted either, but it's the only one that doesn't involve giving in. That isn't even something she'll consider. 

Until the opportunity arises, Eve is stuck here, in the embodiment of claustrophobia. 

Normally small space doesn't bother her much. Her father is a collector. Loves to pile junk into the garage out back and claim it's worth millions. Some of it is too, however the value hardly outweighs the money he's put out in the name of his hobby. Dad would probably like this room and all it's lacking coordination, but everything in it makes Eve uneasy. 

She figures it's because she knows the man behind it all. Recognizes him as someone who actually exists, unlike the many faceless historical names hanging in her father's house. It's horrible because this humanizes him to an extent. Makes it seem like at one point someone good was there. Someone who played multiple sports in college and had a fascination with tacky plane models. Pictures remind her he had friends, not just followers and his twisted family. At some point he drank too, proven by the collectible beer cans and various corked wines labeled in ways she can't even pronounce. 

It dawns on her, John isn't just some bad guy at the end of her long quest. He's a person, or at some point he used to be. Eve doesn't know which is worse, the fact they're the same species or that there's a very real potential he could be a demon from hell. As much as she wants to, she's not really in the place to dwell on it right now. Becoming acquainted with the room is going to be much more beneficial than pondering over the philosophy of John's human nature. Still, a small part of her continues to wonder as she begins familiarizing herself. 

The first thing she notices is the bed directly in front of her. It's a grand piece, with intricate carvings on the posts and a faded canopy. She wouldn't be shocked to see it in a museum. Truthfully, she's not really surprised to see it here either. John sure could afford the damn thing. Two equally decorative bedside tables compliment the former nicely, but that's the last thing matching in the room. 

To the left, an antique dresser sits beside a leather couch a few years past it's prime. A few tables are pushed up against the items, complemented by stacks of books and papers thrown across their surface. The teacher in her wants to organize it. Put it in sections and use her colored paper clips to keep everything from sliding out of order. Her hatred for John wants to mess the papers up more. Rip and burn them then laugh in his stupid smug-ass face. 

On her right there's a desk and a cheap bookshelf. Cardboard boxes are piled on the shelves. There's a lot of books laying around too, but the majority of the mess is just stuff. Junk she can't categorize as anything other than purely decorative. She gives him the benefit of the doubt that somethings may be sentimental. It's highly unlikely this all is though. Eve thinks that if the multicolored twisty pen on the desk meant something to John, he'd actually have it in his office where it could be used. Or at least seen. 

The walls are mainly covered by frames, medals, and weird art installations. Some of the framed items are just photos. Nothing really of the family variety (they'd probably have that hanging somewhere in view of the cult). Just a lot of unfamiliar faces. Occasionally the pretentious landscape photography attempt as well.

None of it is worth pulling off for a crude weapon. While it's true the glass and weighted trophies would be decent enough for the job, the continents of John's desk organizer are much more appealing. Some scissors, pens varying in appearance, and even a letter opener peak out from a little tin cup. Now, if Eve can't use two of those things as effective knife substitute, she doesn't know how she'll be getting out of here. 

Sore feet carry her through the knee-high maze of furniture and fallen storage. Trying to avoid all the mess is like dancing. Her feet have to be in the right space at just the right time. One after the another as to not disturb the unstable half-walls surrounding her. 

"I can't believe we're stuck here for the rest of the night" Despite the door staying shut, the words are so loud it sounds as if someone has entered the room. Eve stops in her tracks, nearly sending a tower of old vinyls flying. Her worry, although brief, is enough to make her heart race. 

There's a sigh outside that pierces the walls "We must never question the will of the Father."

That makes her roll her eyes. 

She's heard similar shit back when she was younger. Adults made it clear they were adults and for some reason unbeknownst to her that always meant they were right. There was no questioning them, even with healthy skepticism and reasonable worries. 

Eve guesses 'The Father' sees his children in this same light. 

"I know, I know," The first voice assures, all too familiar in the way it backtracks, "It's just, I thought I was going to be at the bunker with the kids tonight. Haven't seen them in a week, and I'm really starting to miss em'."

Fuck, kids? In a bunker? She was damn near ready to take another step and grab those colorful scissors, but hearing someone mention children in this hellhole keeps her from it. Who thought it was a good idea to do this? What kind of parent didn't leave the county the minute they heard a cult was down their street? 

"You'll see them soon. With that woman here now, I'm sure the collapse is right around the corner. And with it, Eden follows."

There's a scoff in the back of her throat. Many things are wrong and irritating about his words, but her brain is used to this form of degeneracy. Her pace picks up again, nimble fingers reaching to grab. 

"Yeah, I get that, but it's still… I just mean those are my kids. I haven't been away from them like this before. Back when I worked at the mill, I saw em' every night. Lauren would bring home something from the restaurant and we'd all eat as a family. Now, I go months without hearing anything."

Lauren? Mill?

Shit. 

Dammit.

No wonder his voice sounds so familiar. She's heard it over the phone a million times. Greeted it in person when she came to visit the family. His daughters had Skype called her all throughout college and his son pulled out her earring at a family BBQ last year. He'd been in their wedding, and his weird ass wife had brought a bucket of mashed potatoes from her little buffet style restaurant. 

Fucking Neil. 

He's her brother-in-law. Works at the lumber mill full time and has the loudest fucking mouth in the world. If she was a braver woman, she'd knock on the door and demand to speak with him. Ask him why the hell he's standing in this house. Why he didn't get the fuck out of here when they had the chance. 

Eve is not brave. She can fight, and fight, and fight because she has to, but she'll never be able to face someone she loves batting for the enemy team. Not without crying at the very least. Fuck, she never thought she would have to face someone she loved again. After Will died, her plan wasn't to fix Hope County and go back home. This was never a mission. This is a last stand. 

The scissors slide into her hand with ease. They're heavy, visibly blunted, but pointed enough at the tip to slice without issue. Her hand shakes and the individual blades clink together, a bit loose where an old rusted screw connects them. 

Her grandad probably would have said the letter opener was a better bet. It had a solid handle and a sharper tip. Would make for a nice, clean job. Eve doesn't want that. She wants a brutal stabbing. Something to make that traitorous prick consider what Will went through. 

"Missing your spouse is only natural," The other voice, much smoother and obviously convinced of this bullshit, speaks, "I can only imagine what the Father must have felt chasing around the deputy."

What the fuck?

The implications send her stomach rolling. Spouse to that monster? Never. Not ever with the most potent drugs. Not at gunpoint or in the middle of a fucking apocalypse. Not ever. 

Dipshit #1 manages a chuckle, and she cringes at the feeling in her stomach. It hurts, turns as if she's caught the flu. She knows this feeling too well. Panic. 

The scissors almost fall out of her hand as she backs up, knocking down some disregarded book ends and the magazines they held up. The paper falls without a hitch, creating a mess but not doing any real damage. John's book ends though, they land with an impact. The marble bounces on the wood floor, denting every spot it touches and breaking the thinner stone.

"The hell was that?"

Her breathing is shallow, fast, not nearly enough. She feels like she's drowning, the air she manages to catch hardly making it to her lungs before anxiety pushes it out. Everything about her is so unsure. So afraid and weary and torn because what is she supposed to do? Well, she knows what she wants to do, but what would William do? 

There's a jingling sound right outside the door. Metal on metal. Eve can already guess what it is. She scrambles for the entry, knuckles white and teeth ripping into her inner cheek as she hides to the side. Out of view, but in the optimal spot for a surprise attack. 

"Are you okay in here?" The door opens slowly, the man she doesn't know entering first. He's young, around her age. There's a ring on his finger too, and for a moment she feels sorry for what she's going to do. 

She does not yell as she jumps on him, taking him by surprise and sending his baton flying. A yell leaves his mouth, but she doesn't let him finish, shoving the cutting tool into the side of his neck. Screaming quickly turns into gurgles, blood seeping from his lips as she rips the makeshift weapon from his throat. He falls to the ground. 

Eve's still standing, embracing the sick pleasure that runs up her spine. Crimson pours onto the wooden planks, coating magazines and the cultist's clothing. It doesn't last long though, she knows she has another problem. Turning around, ready to meet her next opponent, is when she's sent flying backwards. Her head hits the floor with a thud, hair sucking up any blood available. 

She's still conscious enough to see him, glaring down at her with a reddened face and familiar green eyes. He's blinded by rage. A bit drunk on it too, but she can't hold herself back, wiggling under his body weight, "How could you? You fucking bastard."

Realization hits him all at once. 

"Oh my God, Evelyn. How did you get here? Are you okay?"

Neil's body raises a bit, crushing her a little less than before, but still keeping her armed hand down. He knows her all too well.

"No I'm not fucking okay!"

He winces, a bit shaken up by her voice and sudden appearance . If he's being honest, Neil hadn't thought he'd see her again. She'd never been a wayward traveler. Driving up here always made her anxious. So, he couldn't see her doing it alone. Not without Will at the end of the road anyways. 

"Lower your voice," He says far quieter than she's ever heard him before. 

Eve moves to scream a protest just to spite him, but he's got that look in his eye. The look an older sibling gives to the youngest when they call for their mother. Frantic, apologetic, "Why should I, asshole?"

He curses, right in her ear but so quick she doesn't catch it, "They'll drop everything if you scream. We'll both be fucked."

"Good. Go to Hell," The brunette opens her lips, ready to scream, when he slaps a tattooed hand over her mouth. His palm is sweaty, smelling like motor oil and gunpowder as he pushes up against her face. If she could, she'd bite him. Make him do the screaming just to show his lovely leaders how shit at his job he is. To Eve's misfortune, her brother-in-law seems to have her completely incapacitated. 

He knows what she's assuming. He knows because, fuck, he's thought the same thing. Neil's not sure about anything he's done. The man has questioned every decision he's made this past year, and still ended up wondering was this right? Was this the safest option for his family?

"I understand this looks bad," Neil whispers, "But this isn't what you think… God, it's so far from what you think."

She mumbles under his hand, not loud or threatening. Reluctantly, he moves to let her speak. 

"Prove it."


End file.
